The Homosexual Angel (lesbian story)

Not So Bad

<Dismissal>

I headed home, this time by myself via bus. There was dinner, which was some take-out order from Dad while on his way home. I opened the Styrofoam packaging of the meal and I took the plastic spoon and fork in either hands. My parents began exchanging work experiences this morning as I silently devoured the steak.

"So, how was school today, Aceline?" Dad asked in between bites of the mushroom. I nodded to acknowledge the question. "It was fine, a lot better than yesterday." No lie; so, so much better. I think I might know the ropes now.

Mom hummed in victory and Dad smiled. "That's nice to know," they said as if in unison.

"Got any friends lately?" Mom's turn to ask.

"Yeah! So far, I have met Angie, Mary, Frank, Arney... and a lot more, and they're all really sweet."

I remembered someone as I realized my mother was wearing boots.

"And Megan Woods," I had no idea my voice turned mellow at the sound of her name, and I found myself staring at the blank space between the refrigerator and the huge flower pot.

My parents exchanged looks under their bowed heads. My father was the first to jerk his head up. "Hm. The troubled kids at her school don't change at times. They just have to bring others down with them."

My mother replied with a nod as she looked for something in her meal. I grew a little curious.

"Troubled kids?" I asked.

"You know, the kids that find other places to be in apart from school... Like the Megan Woods you mentioned. Although we don't want to sound mean," but they already do "but please, be careful with whom you hang out with, Aceline." My father's voice sounded so stern yet so gentle, I wasn't so sure about how to feel- stiffened or relaxed.

"I don't really think Megan's troubled..." I murmured, and Mom found what she was looking for in her plate and heard me. "Oh really, honey?" she pressed. She gave me the side glance and I knew it wasn't a genuine question. What ever happened to not sounding mean?

"I heard she has a knack for cutting classes and picking fights with kids in school," my father already gave a contradicting argument to what I was about to say.

I looked around and placed my plastic utensils down and covered the finished food packaging.

"I don't think she's troubled; she just doesn't have anyone to vent out to, perhaps?"

Contrary to how I speak about her, I barely know the girl, I have no idea about why she cuts classes or picks fights in school. I don't know why she would trust me with the deal we made, and I don't know why she stays distant from everyone else in school. I really don't know her, not a bit, not at all.

It's surprising that I'm defending her reputation in front of my protective parents; I don't even know her reputation around the block.

My parents pretended not to hear anything I said and went on eating. I don't know if they should even find a reason to listen to me; I can't listen to myself at times.

I silently stood up and dumped the trash in the bin.

"Don't forget to brush," Mom hollered as I climbed the stairs.

<Next Day in School>

"HIT HER ON THE FUCKING FACE! DO IT, GIRL!"

I was passing by the gym room when I noticed a considerable amount of kids barricading something inside the room. Some were screaming around, some stood scared, but still watched on.